


midnight calls

by wildflowersinthemeadow



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FIFA World Cup 2014, Fluff, M/M, World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildflowersinthemeadow/pseuds/wildflowersinthemeadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the World Cup 2014, after the match Italy vs. England. After the match and celebrations, Andrea returns to his hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	midnight calls

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first football RPF fic. I wanted to write a little episode about how Andrea, after a turbulent evening, returns to the calm atmosphere of his hotel room. 
> 
> Shoutout to LeapAngstily who introduced me to this pairing. :)

Andrea closed the door behind him and was greeted by an eerie silence. He switched on the light, locked the door. Contemplative, he walked a few steps into his room. The warm light from the wooden nightstand created a peaceful atmosphere. He instantly felt calmer. The slender man slowly inhaled. The air was so warm and damp, and yet it felt light. Lighter than a couple of hours before, at least. 

_Air. I need fresh air._ He took another look at the lights by his bedside, threw the room key on the bed and walked over to the window. Opening it, he was greeted by a fresh breeze of the Brazilian air. Humid, too, this humidity never ended, but refreshing nonetheless. He inhaled it deeply and felt his cells coming alive again. Leaning on the window frame and looking outside at the lights of the city, he smiled. Somewhere in the distance he could hear music, drums and loud voices.

They did it! They really did it. They defeated England - not quite perfectly, with one goal against, but still - and collected essential points. He'd do the math later, it didn't matter at the moment, the victory was all that counted. He was so proud of his team.

He kinda felt sorry for the English team, though. They were strong and fought well, Andrea had enough grandeur to admit it. They really worked and gave it all out there. In the end, apart from their great work, of course, luck was also on Italy's side. He'd call Gerrard later. He already said some words of compassion to him on the field.

Slowly, very gradually, he felt his body relaxing. The caressing fresh air was helping, too. This was when he kicked off his shoes - dark blue, almost black sneakers - sat down on the bed and leaned against the wooden headboard. He grabbed his phone on the bedside table and already his background, which was the first thing to light up on the screen, made him smile. It was a goofy picture of Riccardo, shot on a lazy Sunday morning they had spent in bed. Riccardo between the sheets, smiling at the camera, at him, Andrea. He looked so young and beautiful, his face illuminated by the pale sunlight seeping into the room.

He had him on speeddial. "Dial Ricco" the screen said. Andrea breathed in and listened, his heart beating fast. Beep. Beep. The seconds seemed endless. Then, finally, the young, slightly hoarse voice: "Andrea?"

The older man smiled. "Ciao Ricco!"

In the background, loud music was playing and chatter could be heard. Also, he could've sworn there was a tv running. He heard Riccardo call into the room: "Guys, guys, be quiet, it's Andrea!" Instantly, the voices in the background started cheering and whistling. "Heeey, capitano! Numero Uno! FORZA AZZURRI!" and the likes. Andrea had to laugh.

"Where on Earth are you? I thought you were supposed to stay home," Andrea asked into the phone with a smirk. 

"I am home," Riccardo shouted, "I've got friends over, we're celebrating your triumph here. Wait a sec!"

Silence. At least no Riccardo. Andrea could hear heavy steps, hard breathing, then the opening and closing of a door. 

"Okay," Riccardo was on again,"I went out on the balcony, to have some quiet. Baby, you did it, you guys did it! I'm so happy and proud of you! You were all amazing, but you, _you_ were _outstanding_." His bubbly voice happily spilled over. "And a great job, too, England was not easy to beat. But you did it! And ... " he paused " ... you looked so sexy again. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Especially not of that one region of yours."

Andrea laughed. "You're reducing me to my looks here."

Riccardo smiled into the phone. "Can't help it, you've got one fine ass there."

"On that, I will not argue with you," the older man snickered.

They shared a moment of silence. "I miss you," Andrea suddenly blurted out. "The hotel room is so quiet without you here. And a party is not the same."

"I miss you, too, baby," Riccardo said with a now much quieter voice. "But you'll see, the days will fly by like moments and before you know it, you're back in my arms again." He paused again. "Skype?"

Andrea nodded. "Si. Per favore."

Riccardo hung up. Andrea quickly pressed the blue button and logged on. Mere seconds later, there was an incoming call. And then, finally, he saw his face, this beautiful face he loved and missed so much. 

"Hey ... " Riccardo beamed into the camera. He looked slightly dishevelled but happy and a bit pale. Sleepy, too, but it was no wonder, it was now 3am in Italy.

"Hey, darling!" Andrea answered. "You look better, but tired. Go to sleep." 

Riccardo smiled shyly. "Couldn't do it. I waited for your call. I knew you'd call. But I'll go to bed soon, I promise." He rummaged with the phone, the picture trembled. "Hey, wait a moment. Here." Suddenly the picture spun around and the million city lights greeted him. Andrea's heart clenched. Beloved Italy. To be back there soon. In his arms. 

The camera turned on Ricco's face again. "Italy misses you and waits for you." 

Andrea smiled back. "Tell him I miss him, too. Wait, I gotta return the favor." He stood up and sprinted to the window, brushed the curtains aside and held the phone out into the night. Then turned it back on his face. "Brazil sends its regards and says that it takes care of Andrea. It also appologizes for the humid air."

"Is it still that bad?" Riccardo asks concerned into the camera.

Andrea shakes his head. "After like ten minutes of playing all my clothes were soaked through. But after the shower I was okay."

"What's it like now?" 

"Better." Andrea said. He was back on the bed again, and suddenly, seeing Riccardo, he felt very sleepy. He tried to suppress a yawn.

They talked for a while, sleepy calm exchanges of news, information and intimacy. They analysed the match, Andrea told Riccardo about Brazil, how he was doing here and what the weather was doing to him. They talked about Ricco's leg and how it was gradually healing. And then they exchanged nothing big at all, just little words of tenderness. After about half an hour, seeing Ricco's face, having lifted some of the weight from his own heart, Andrea was absolutely calm and literally falling asleep.

"I tell you what," Riccardo said, "how about we go to sleep now? It's so damn late and I believe, we both celebrated enough for tonight."

Andrea melted into a comfortable mess right there on the bed, not even bothering with undressing or the bed covers. His eyes were falling shut. Wearily, he nodded.

"I will be in your dreams," Riccardo smiled. "As you will be in mine."

"I love you," was the last thing Andrea murmured before falling asleep.

"I love you, too," Riccardo replied tenderly, lingered for a moment, then disconnected.

The phone fell between the sheets from Andrea's slender hand and a peaceful, light snore filled the room. The gentle lights on the nightstand were silently watching over him, guarding his sleep. Deep in a beautiful dream, images from his victory and Riccardo flickering before his eyes, Andrea smiled.


End file.
